Like a Moth to the Flame
by fancyfarmer
Summary: She has always been drawn to danger, but princesses don't worry themselves with war and adventure. Those are men's battles. Musings on 01x12 Skin Deep.


It's been a while.

I wasn't going to upload anything, but I've been watching Once Upon A Time and then Skin Deep happened. I'm sure you all know about that.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Once Upon A Time.

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><p>She has always been drawn to danger.<p>

Oh, her father seeks to keep her guarded, keep her safe. Locked behind cold stone walls and thick wooden doors, she is protected from the evil of the world. She is a princess, and princesses don't worry themselves with war and adventure. Those are men's battles.

She finds sanctuary in the castle library, where she spends her time reading every page of every tome her father has collected. She reads about dragon slayings and bloody wars, of fair princes and fainting damsels. Behind every flick of a page, she is given worlds where men conquer monsters and women tend house.

Belle begins to hate it.

Every time she tries to voice her opinion at her father's council she is gently rebuked, reminded of her place. A princess, he says, should not concern herself with matters of terrible wars. Even though it is her village dying. Her people suffering. Her mother in a cemetery under an old oak tree.

Her father eventually locks the library doors on her, for fear of the things she has been reading. The click of the bolt assures him he is doing right. Tales of adventuring will only put ideas into her head. Ideas that could harm her.

He arranges a marriage for her, no matter that she protests and cries and threatens to run away. Gaston seems pleasant enough, and perhaps he will take her mind off matters of war and loss and knights on horseback, swords drawn. It is his greatest misjudgment.

Belle takes to wandering the gardens alone at night, sometimes bribing a guard to let her take a horse from the stables and ride. It is a dangerous thing, but with a dagger hidden in her boot and a vicious grin, she feels fit to handle any challenge. With the wind howling in her ears and her horse thundering through tall grass, she feels more alive than she does at the castle.

Her father finds out, of course. Offers the guard more gold than she and an early retirement. He sets a watch on her everywhere she goes, and suggests that Gaston have a permanent room at the castle. He moves in with little fuss, just down the hall from her. Slowly, like a noose tightening ever so slightly before the drop, Belle is being suffocated.

She dreams of a better life, where women hold true power and are respected, where heroes abound, no matter their gender. She is only allowed to council meetings if Gaston accompanied her and she holds her tongue. No opinions. No concern. No bravery.

Then the war takes a turn to their village, and her world shifts.

The meeting is rushed and unfocused. She runs to the council chamber, Gaston at her heels shouting disapproval. She enters to a room of men with distrusting looks and silent anger. Her father glances at her and knows she will not be so easily cowed.

The arrangements have been made, a deal dealt. Gold for safety and lives unharmed. Her father bets on a devil appearing, but the room lacks his unsettling presence. If no one comes, they will be left to face the ravages of war on a village that can't protect itself long. There are too many children and too few men left to fight the terrors.

Then a knock, innocent and foreboding. A double-edged sword.

He conjures himself on the throne even as the guards are staring down the hallway, befuddled. An unearthly laugh and there he sits. Rumpelstiltskin.

Belle stands behind Gaston's protective form, staring with mute curiosity at this man-monster, the deal-striker and oath-pledger. Uncertainty clouds the room as he denies their earlier bargain. The deal is changing. Gold will not suffice.

He points at her, and her vision tunnels.

Her. Belle.

She tastes an air of longing on her tongue, thoughts of chivalry and adventure and danger swirling around her. Her father outright denies the request, as Belle knows he will. He still loves her, his only daughter, despite her eccentricities. She is still family, still his blood and flesh.

The deal-maker turns to leave, walking with an upbeat step and the chilling laugh he gives echoing women's screams and children's cries. Such a loss for one little word. Belle steels her mind and squares her shoulders.

She will no longer be the damsel awaiting rescue.

Her father protests. She ignores him, and Gaston's flustered words. She is tired of playing a fragile, porcelain doll. No one decides her life for her.

The walk to Rumpelstiltskin feels miles long. Her father watches her retreating back, fear and loss and pain chasing after her until the doors close and they are utterly alone.

He doesn't speak. Belle keeps her gaze centered ahead, to the carriage waiting to take her far away from the only home she's ever known. He doesn't even offer to let her enter first, only hops in with a sardonic grin that says so much and so little about the man-monster. Belle doesn't waver, doesn't flinch.

She will be the courageous knight.

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><p>Read &amp; Review?<p> 


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